


The Little Flower

by lando_cal_rice_ian



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Swearing, but what's new eh, joffrey being an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 16:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16957560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lando_cal_rice_ian/pseuds/lando_cal_rice_ian
Summary: he may be the king, but it’s you they love





	The Little Flower

**Author's Note:**

> TUMBLR REQUEST: Joffrey feeling horrible and embarrassed after you put him in his place in front of the town when a gathering had been called and he made a rude comment, and he hits you and you get hurt? Very emotional and angry? Love this blog to absolute death!  
> [...]  
> Maybe for the Joffrey one, a few quotes could be “You bloody bitch!” or “I am the king!” “I should have you killed!” “Mother was right, you are just a worthless peasant” or mix it up however you’d like haha  
> [...]  
> And a commoner with an open, public relationship with Joffrey. And a lot of people really like the y/n for being down to earth and a nice person?

He said he loved you, that he would cherish you forever, his precious flower, his precious queen. But the boy who stood before you, as the crowd closed in around you like a protective wall, was not that Joffrey. No. This was a _monster_.

 

Their eyes stared up at him with more life than their withering bodies. Wonder, awe; envy, greed; _filthy_ ; that was all the young king saw. Joffrey fought himself beneath the merciless King’s Landing sun, resisting the urge – the instinct – to scowl down at these people – _if they are people at all_ , he thought. The stench of the streets was overbearing; if he were not a king, _the_ king, he would have fainted. But he _was_ the king, and he would do no such thing.

Among the filth his gaze sought beauty, _you_ , craving the pleasures of your smile. A pretty smile, caught in the throng of poverty, of dirt, of misery. Joffrey despised that his precious flower was forced to keep such company, but his mother had refused you entry into the Red Keep. His mother detested your attachment. Joffrey detested his mother.

Joffrey’s eyes ceased their almost desperate search. His mother’s voice, already distant in his bored ears, faded entirely, until all he heard was his beating heart. From a parting in the crowd, there you stood, watching Queen Cersei speak – a bunch of nonsense in Joffrey’s opinion, who cared about some stupid traitors and their false claims to the throne when the Gods had chosen him and he would soon vanquish these pretenders? Who cared what the commoners thought?

_My little flower_ , he thought, a smile at last forming on his lips. But it soon waned. An ugly shadow took its place, flickering across his Lannister face. Why were you paying him no heed? Why did you listen to his mother when your king was standing before you? Lips concentrating into a thin line, Joffrey’s pleasant mask slipped, his handsome Lannister features giving way to a shadowy ugliness underneath.

_Look at me,_ he commanded. _Look at me._

Sunlight kissed your skin and set your hair ablaze. To Joffrey, your eyes were two fallen stars, captivating his soul, your lips a budding rose he yearned to kiss. But rage turned you ugly in his eyes. Until, when those eyes he so adored shifted upon him and those lips bloomed into a sweet smile, the red in his gaze disappeared. His breath faltered.

Joffrey Baratheon had a heart. Though it was withered and cruel, it was alive, enough to feel some form of affection for you that was in his capability. Although, it had sparked at the sight your beauty, he gradually grew to admire your tenderness. As a Baratheon prince, the boy had grown in the shadow of a cold relationship between his mother and father and, though his mother adored him despite his monstrosities, he had never learned the ways of genuine affection, not even to love his mother in return. Whatever he could give you, however, was enough. Your heart carried the rest of the love.

The true beauty lay in your eyes. Through them, one could see into the sweetness of your soul. You loved your king, not for his riches nor his beauty, but for the potential you saw in him. Whispers filled the street of his beastliness, but you could not believe them, you refused to.

Your relationship was no secret. Not only did the castle know, the nobility shocked at the thought of a commoner as their future queen, but the entirety of King’s Landing knew. Most prayed for your safety, especially a Northern bird, caged in the castle. But there were some who found merriment in the king’s affections towards you, for it gave them hope that, perhaps, you could soften the king’s cruel heart.

It seemed that you had.

But you were all _wrong_.

It was fleeting; a pleasant veil that blew in the breeze, swept up to reveal ugly truths. Sometimes, a beast was just a beast. Sometimes, one could change; and other times, one could not be changed. Some good things could never be salvaged, nor created.

As Cersei finished, her melodious voice no longer lulling the crowd, Joffrey spoke up. “I took one traitor’s head. I will take all the others.”

Cheers rose from the common crowd. From behind the noble gathering, Sansa Stark grimaced. Your eyes met. The poor girl, desperate not to anger the king and his mother, tried so hard to keep her sorrow at bay. But she could not hide it in her eyes. Your heart ached. A frown came over your features.

Joffrey saw. He glanced over his shoulder and Sansa felt his glare; she looked up fleetingly, before hurriedly staring down at her clasped hands.

Joffrey turned back to you. Your frown had deepened. It was an unfamiliar sight. Usually, you smiled, and he loved it. He hated this. Without a second thought, he swept his golden cloak behind him and descended the steps, growing closer to you. The sea of people parted and the king strode to your side. His hand gripped your arm, not too tight, but not gentle either.

“What is it, my precious flower?” he whispered into your ear. “Where has my lady’s smile gone?”

Cersei watched from the steps, eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a thin display of irritation. Sansa’s wide eyes stared at you. Prayers stormed in the girl’s head.

You turned your head until your gazes locked. His eyes were like ice, blue and _cold_. “I am not a lady, Your Grace. I am a commoner. I was there at the Great Sept when Lord Stark lost his head. I was there when Lady Sansa screamed and wept. I was _there_. Was that not enough pain? Was that not enough anguish? Was that not enough _bloodshed_?” His eyes darkened. You steadied your gaze. “Must you want more?”

You loved Joffrey, and though you were sweet, you were no fool. His irresponsible behaviour had not gone unnoticed before by you, but you had held your tongue for the sake of your love. But this was enough. Death and destruction was too much.

High lords may have had their fancy words and beautiful clothes, but they were just as barbaric as the rest of the world.

It felt like the world had stopped. And yet, it also felt as if his slap came abruptly, as if no time had transpired at all. The sting of the slap overcame your thoughts as you stumbled aside from the great force. Through the ringing in your ears, you could hear him shouting.

“I am the king! I demand respect!” It all sounded distant, as if he was drifting further and further away, from you, and from your heart. And when you looked at him, he was just a distant memory of love. You finally saw him for what he was: an arrogant, cruel king.

“You bloody bitch!” He shoved his finger at your face, drawing close, his enraged face filling up your vision. “Mother was right. You are just a worthless peasant.”

From the steps, Cersei watched; watched as her son came undone, falling victim to his own conceit; watched as the commoners turned, their eyes brimming with fury; watched as the sea of bodies closed in, pushing Joffrey aside, their love for you greater than their fear of the king. Cersei watched as her son screamed, the Kingsguard rushing to his side. He was her sweet boy, she realised, but he was no king.

As the queen mother’s gaze turned to you, standing defiant among those who loved you, protected from the violent boy, she begrudgingly admitted to herself how much she admired you. Although you were a commoner and had always been an inappropriate match for the king, it did not mean she despised you. In fact, she respected you. In her eyes, you were a pretty little thing, waiting to bloom into a strong woman. Perhaps, Cersei thought, if you had been of noble blood, she would have formed an alliance between you and Joffrey long ago. In that moment, Cersei saw herself in you. A survivor who refused to stay fallen when pushed down by her enemies. But, you had one thing Cersei never got, and she envied you for it…

You had love.


End file.
